


with a clouded mind and a heavy heart

by corey_heartless



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Ducks (Comics), PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Issue 34, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corey_heartless/pseuds/corey_heartless
Summary: Tonight will be a sleepless night for many. It's hard to sleep with ghosts of the past and fear for the future and the Duck Avenger knows it...





	with a clouded mind and a heavy heart

**Author's Note:**

> I've started rereading all the issues (in no specific order) and I want to write some ff out of them. Please, pardon me for everything
> 
> PS. English is not my main language so I'm sorry for eventual mistakes!

It would have been a long night. So long, so dark, haunted by the ghosts of the past and the enemies of the future.  
After that Trip feel asleep in his arms, Donald put him in his own bed, so he could sleep better, and then he started wandering in the basement of the former Ducklair Tower. Honestly, he was afraid to sleep. He was afraid that if he closed his eyes, he would have seen again all the horror and the pain he had witnessed. So he walked, silently, hidden in the shadows, his quiet steps echoing in the large rooms. He tried to stop the rush of his thoughts that was hazing his mind, but he miserly failed, losing completely track of whatever he was thinking, dark images clouding his mind. He looked around, he was sure he had heard footsteps but with his heart hammering his temples, who could say?  
He kept on walking, his footsteps quicker now; he was almost running, with no fixed path, turning left, then right, then left again. He turned around so many times that, eventually he ended up lost along those countless corridors. He looked around again, his heart pounding in his chest, his face covered in sweat. Have these corridors always been this long and tight? He couldn't remember, his mind full of broken thoughts, his heart so heavy that made him fall upon his knees. He passed a trembling hand across his sweating face. He realized that he had no idea on how to cone back to Trip, that maybe he even couldn't come back, since his legs failed him so bad.  
He would have wished to say that this was his first panic attack. He really would. Instead he had been living like this for years, constantly hung on painful memories that, he was sure, would have certainly killed him one day.  
Yet there he was, lost, half breathing, in a gloomy corner. Maybe he could have called for help, if only his voice had got out of his throat. If only he could have screamt. If only he could have got those demons out of his head.  
Trashing through the floor, he tried desperately to reach the wall, failing and slumping in the cold ground, with his heart furiously beating against the cement, his glassy eyes blurring out all the figures around him, his raspy breathing choking in his throat, his hands reaching out at the void now, painfully trembling and sweating, cold as ice.  
Fear was running down his spine like a thunder in the night, numbing his limbs. He couldn't feel his limbs anymore, for as long as he tried to move, he couldn't move an inch of his now-so-heavy body. As other flashback filled his mind, another chill ran through his body.  
And he screamt.  
He finally did it, he pushed out all the (little) air in his lungs in a icy cry.  
Then he stayed there, hanging between light and dark, for God knows how long. His body still not wanting to stop shaking and still holding onto those excruciating memories.  
He was tired, he really was, he only wanted to sleep, to at least close his eyelids but he just couldn't physically give in. He rolled his eyes, writhing with the pain of the flashbacks.  
Then he saw a green thing floating in front of him. His eyes lit up, while he was lying in disbelief. It couldn't be and yet there he was, his former partner, his friend. He reached out with his hand, maybe it was just an illusion of his twisted mind, but he wanted to try, he had to. 

"One..."

His shaking hand was almost touching the floating green when it spoke, and a young and hesitant voice snapped in the air. 

"Ehm, are you, like... are you ok?" 

Donald's vision cleared: a green shirt, a curious, scared face in front of him.  
Trip. Trip found him. He had no idea how, nor he needed to know, but as soon as he recognized him, his body shouted danger. If Trip was there, he was surely looking for help; maybe somebody wanted to get in the basement, or worse, maybe somebody was already in.  
Fear kicked in once again, his body wrecked by shivers; with his wobbling arms, Donald tried repeatedly to get on his feet, falling down on the unforgiving floor everytime. He felt so miserable, he wasn't even able to stand how was he supposed to protect this boy?  
He fell once again and then he felt an hand on his shoulder, and a voice pierced through the loud thud of his heart echoing in his ears. 

"Woah, easy easy, i don't want you to get a heart attack!" 

Donald whipped back, his world spinning at the movement. He looked at the blurry figure of Trip with glassy eyes. 

"Danger..." 

One breathless word escaped from his mouth, his lungs screaming because of that.  
Trip stared at Donald's eyes, indeed the boy was scared, never in his life he had seen something like that. And then it hit him. That was a panic attack. He vaguely heard about it during a science lesson, but since he's not the best student in his class, he only remembered fragments of the explanation given by his teacher: a panic attack was dangerous, sudden and overwhelming, where the patient is paralyzed by fear.  
My God, repeating it now, while witnessing a real panic attack, got him unable to do anything. What the hell was he supposed to do against this 'thing'? He thought and thought, mind racing miles, when other words said by his teacher came up in his blank mind.  
"Comfort. The patient needs to be comforted."  
And it took Trip all his strength and soothing voice to comfort the quivering figure in front of him. 

"There is no danger, it's all ok. No danger." 

Trip surprised himself with an unexpected firm voice, he hoped really bad that his strategy would have worked out or he really had no idea of what to do. God, he should have payed more attention to the lesson he attended!  
A sweaty hand grabbed his wrist and Trip gasped, his heartbeat starting to race. A wheezing voice started talking. 

"You... good?" 

Donald really wished Trip heard him, he wasn't sure that his body would have let him say that again. He hoped for the best, mere seconds becoming hours in that state of total panic.  
Trip nodded. He was good. Dear Lord, he was good, he was ok, safe and sound. For the first time in what seemed forever his body relaxed. He let go of Trip's wrist and lied on the gentle floor. He eased his breath and his heartbeat slowed too.  
He placed his still hand on Trip's one, that was still firm on his shoulder. 

"Thank you, Trip. Thank you so much." 

Quiet words escaped his lips, then Donald closed his eyes. Since 15 years he had never felt this good. He smiled. He was good, Trip was good, everything was good. For a moment the ghosts of the past flew away leaving him with a clear mind and a light heart.


End file.
